


Morning Musings

by fencer_x



Category: Back Stage!!, Love Stage!!
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rei reflects on what it means...to mean something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Musings

You've always been the practical sort; you budget wisely, haven't taken a sick day in who knows how long, set your recyclables out on the appropriate days, and your apartment, while not very furnished, looks...lived in, at least, and not like the austere, model rooms most working bachelors are pictured coming home to. You've scraped out a place for yourself since leaving the Sena family home behind you, and you like to think you've made your mark here, in a manner of speaking--a neat, primly maintained mark, to be sure, but a mark nonetheless.

And in this new, practical life you've hacked together for yourself, you've found some measure of peace, contentment even. You've learned to leave the wild, unfettered Sagara behind and embrace the cool, collected Rei that's blossomed in his place--not out of any particular love of starched suits and wire-frame glasses but because, well, that's what Seiya-san needs. _You_ are what he needs, you've divined over the years, and he's what you need, has always been--physically at first, but more on an emotional level now.

You've always been...content, you've realized of late, with your place in Seiya-san's life. It was always enough that you were in it, period--what right did you have to long for more, hope for more? The practical side of you has always been quick to remind you that you're lucky to have been more or less adopted by this amazing person, to have him look at you and see something worth saving, something worth his attention and caring, so why risk it? When you know--have always known--that he won't ever feel for you the sheer depth and breadth of what you do for him?

He'll love you like a son, treat you like a trusted member of his family--and really, you _are_ family in all but name--but you'll never be the person he settles next to on the couch after a long day of rehearsals, fingers threaded through your own as his head lolls onto your shoulder; you'll never be the person he wakes up next to in the morning, rolling over to close the space between you as he slides his lips over your own despite your irked protests over _morning breath_ ; you'll never catch him gazing at you with sheer bliss palpably radiating from his smile before he hastily glances away and covers his goofy grin with a sip of coffee--no, you're not that kind of person to Seiya-san, and he's not that kind of person to you.

And you're all right with that. Really. Maybe it's because you've never let yourself hope--maybe it's because you've always _known_ that you'd never have the kind of life with him that he enjoys with Nagisa-san. Maybe it's because you've always accepted this that it's never festered into frustration, regret, bitterness.

Or maybe it's because as long as it's been a thorn in your side, this knowledge--Shougo's been there to soothe it.

You used to wonder, in those rare moments of fancy, when the practical Rei gave way in a flash to the flighty, flirty Sagara, what it would be like...to be someone's inspiration. A _muse_ to someone with a wealth of talent displayed for the world, with you at their back whispering into their ear how their public could have them for an hour, two even, but they were _yours_ and you _theirs_ and they had to come back to you eventually. You imagine yourself, lighting a fire within Seiya-san that blazes bright before shrinking down and coalescing into something real and new and _tangible_ , listening to words and notes twining together to sing your praises, to tell your story, and knowing that while the rapt audience hears little more than beautiful poetry set to music, _you_ are hearing the love between you and this magnificent person rendered tangible, sensible.

But you're not Seiya-san's muse--not even close--and that's also something you're okay with, because you've never kidded yourself that this was a remote possibility. It's a flight of fancy, nothing more, and you're comfortable keeping it tucked away in the deepest recesses of your mind, drudging it up only under the influence of a great amount of alcohol after a long day at work.

You're well aware that there are those who would scoff at your coping mechanism, and others who would shake their heads in pity and remind you of what a sad life you lead, pining after what you can't have instead of appreciating what you _can_ , but this is what you've satisfied yourself with, and you want for nothing more.

But wanting for nothing more does not necessarily exclude _receiving_ more and _enjoying_ more--and you've found yourself of late considering that…like it or not and strange as it may seem, you're _kind of_ Shougo's muse in certain respects. And it gives you a little thrill when you dwell overly long on this point.

After all, this guy built his career--his entire _life_ , every aspect of his work and what he's become...around drawing your eye, tempting you, _impressing_ you, hoping to woo you with songs and pretty words and secret dedications that every _Crusherz_ fan likes to think are directed at them but which you know with a certainty bordering on foreboding are ballads for _you_. Shougo has worked and built and _tried_ with everything that he is, fueled by want and need for _you_ , until he somehow managed to shine brighter than Seiya-san in your life, eventually burning away his father until Seiya-san was just...Seiya-san. Someone you love and respect but not someone you'll ever be able to really _have_ \--not like you can have Shougo.

You've spent so much time wallowing in the fact that you can't be with Seiya-san, blindered eyes focusing on your life rolling out before you as a gray, bleak emptiness with only Seiya-san's light warming you through, warning yourself to be _content_ , to appreciate this much and not to ask for more--that your feelings for Shougo just...kind of snuck up on you, out of nowhere.

" _Boo_."

You jolt in place as a long, lanky arm snakes around you, bringing a bare chest slick with dripping water flush up against your back, the mattress behind you dipping with the weight of your bedmate settling in. Hastily twisting around, you find your efforts impeded as a face is pressed against the nape of your neck and Shougo takes a long draw, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly and sending the strands of hair at the base of your neck fluttering upward. You give in--it's all you _can_ do with Shougo most of the time--and instead try to prise his arms free from where they've slipped under your own, reaching up to tweak a nipple. "Don't--" You slap his hand like a naughty child, and he grunts his offense. "You're soaking the sheets..." He compromises by just wrapping you more tightly and being sure his hair, thick and dark with moisture, slathers all over your exposed flesh. You hate him a little bit more with every drop that stains the sheets.

"You need to do laundry anyways," he chuckles low in his throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the back of your neck, and you shiver and tell yourself it's because you've left the air-con on overnight again and the steam from the shower Shougo's just stepped out of is condensing in a thin sheen over your flesh, a chilly blanket sure to wreak havoc on your immune system if you don't put a stop to this immed--

Shougo shifts and the rough cotton fabric of his towel brushes over your backside as he settles in closer, one leg casually draped over your own as his ass hangs out for all and sundry to see. "That _doesn't_ give you license to--" You twist around in his embrace and place a hand in the narrow space between you, wondering if you might perhaps be able to just shove him off the mattress altogether. "And you wonder why I don't invite you to stay the night more often."

Shougo's brows quirk up, and he blinks a few times in quick succession. "What--because you don't like doing laundry?" He settles one elbow to his side and props his head up in his palm, using his free hand to brush your hair behind your ears and setting a soft flush to your cheeks because it both makes you feel like some blushing virgin in a cheesy shoujo manga and generates a pleasant thrum in your chest. "'Cause I'll hit up Tokyu Hands first thing and buy you a new sheet set if this is up for discussion."

And then you _do_ push him off the bed, his irritated squawks a sight more pleasing to the ear than the little diddy he'd been singing in the shower. You shift upright and stretch your arms over your head with a soft grunt, working the kinks from your joints as Shougo scrambles for the towel, hoping to salvage some of his dignity now that it's clear you're not up for a repeat of the previous evening--which frankly, is hogwash; you're always up for it with him when occasion permits, and ostensibly, the both of you alone in your apartment in varying states of nudity _seems_ to be a rather permitting occasion, but unfortunately Shougo is Shougo and you are you and your respective lives are waiting right outside your door, impatiently at that.

You briefly consider telling him as much--but he ruins the moment by peevishly pouting from the mound he's made of himself on the floor, "Should've just showered together at least then..." and you snort inelegantly, poking his bare shoulder with your toe.

"You--who's all the time complaining about my shower being too small and trying to convince me to move someplace bigger--suggest that?"

"Someplace bigger _with me_ ," Shougo corrects, gaze sweeping your face as he attempts to discern if your bringing up this point means you've given his drunken suggestion an ounce more consideration than it ever merited--you haven't--and before he can wax on about how much it makes sense financially and how half the time you're both going the same place _anyways_ and how thrilled his parents would be to know he'd be under the watchful eye of someone as responsible as you 24-7, you give him a firm shove with your foot, nearly toppling him. "Get back in the bathroom and finish getting ready; you've got that interview scheduled this morning, right?"

He grudgingly struggles to his feet, draping the towel about his midsection. "Not 'til 11. Plus I told Sotomura-san I'd find my way there myself; no car to worry about having to meet." You _hmph_ in response, but inside you're a little impressed at his forethought. He shuffles into the bathroom, leaving the door open, and with one hand clutching his towel closed, he squats down to rifle through the little overnight bag he's brought along. Watching him silently go about his ministrations, you go so far as to open your mouth to idly suggest he leave some of the basic necessities here so he doesn't have to always lug along the bag, but you immediately snap your jaw shut again before doing so, congratulating yourself on a crisis narrowly averted.

With Shougo, things have to happen in _baby steps_ , and the next step from here is a kiss before he leaves as reward for getting out the door in a timely manner and not wheedling and whining until you give in and let him jerk you off like he's been wanting to do since you woke up this morning--not _invite him to start making himself at home_. That's another fifty steps down the line, and skipping ahead like that is tantamount to asking Shougo to start subtly scouting around for a Shinto priest who'll agree to perform covert gay weddings. Granted, you can't be entirely sure he hasn't already started doing that, but at least you can rest assured it isn't your own doing that's given him false hope. If he wants to start browsing Amazon Japan or Rakuten for matching flatware, he's welcome to it--you're going to go cook breakfast.

A soft scream echoes through the room as Shougo fires up the blow-dryer, and you cast about for the pajama bottoms you'd had on at one point the evening before but which had...well, been subsequently removed. For reasons. Now, though, you need them again, and you're certain they can't have gone far. You find them at length, crumpled in a pile near the hamper, and now mixed in with the low, droning sigh of the blow-dryer, you can hear Shougo humming again, the same little tune he'd started in the shower. His lips flap idly now and then as he voices the lyrics, and you pause in a squat, fist clenched tight in the soft material of the pants you've just picked up.

You used to wonder what it might be like to be someone's muse, their inspiration, their _reason_ for everything they do and are and strive to be. You used to wonder what it might be like for someone to write a song about you, to whisk you off to far-away locales to be alone with you, to sweep you off your feet at every opportunity, not for bravado or to show off but simply because they want you to _smile_ , to _love them_ as much as they love you. Simply because you're worth it, and they want you to know it.

You've always wanted to be the one inspiring the talents of the person you love...and maybe now, you're starting to accept...you _are_.


End file.
